


Exactly What It Says on the Tin

by Roundworm



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alright this is the hardest part, Also Rossi’s first name is Malcolm and nobody can stop me, Angry Sex, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, don’t fucking look at me, idk if you could tell but I am Into that, the threequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roundworm/pseuds/Roundworm
Summary: Rossi was angry. Like, angry-angry. The anger wasn’t really directed at anything or anyone specifically; it was probably built up from the entire week of near-constant shelling and barely any sleep.So yeah, Rossi was angry. And ranting. And yelling.And Cooke was about to cum in his trousers.
Relationships: Private Cooke/Private Rossi (1917)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Exactly What It Says on the Tin

Rossi was angry. Like, _angry-_ angry. The anger wasn’t really directed at anything or anyone specifically; it was probably built up from the entire week of near-constant shelling and barely any sleep. 

So yeah, Rossi was angry. And ranting. And yelling. 

And Cooke was about to cum in his trousers.

The combination of Rossi’s accent growing thicker the longer he fumed, the pacing, and the way his hands looked while he was aggressively gesturing was too goddamn much for Cooke’s brain—it was melting out of his ears. It was pretty shitty of him to be getting all riled up while his friend was trying to vent, but he could. Not. Help. It. 

The man’s back was turned, Cooke was _throbbing_ , and—again—his brain had evaporated. There was really only one thing to do in his mind. So he… may have… just grinded the heel of his palm against his crotch a little.

Of course, Rossi took that exact fucking moment to turn around and got an eyeful of hand-on-dick action no matter how fast he tried to hide it. Whatever he was saying (Cooke wasn’t really paying attention after his eyes glazed over a few minutes in) was abruptly cut off. 

Rossi’s fiery gaze flitted down for about half a millisecond. “Are you _getting off_ on this?” 

Oh fuck. Cooke’s heart began pounding faster than it had been before, because _somehow_ , Rossi’s dark, faux-calm tone was _even hotter_. He was pretty sure he was visibly panting by now (possibly drooling. Most likely drooling). 

Cooke grinned crookedly, face flushed, pupils fully dilated, and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Does that make you _mad_?”

Something flashed across the taller man’s face, but it was gone as fast as he’d glanced at the obvious tent in Cooke’s trousers. They stayed like that for what felt like an hour, staring each other down, until Rossi began to walk towards him. Cooke shuffled back on his bunk and pressed his legs together, acting coy, praying that Rossi would do something about it. 

Cooke was fighting to maintain eye contact, but the heat in Rossi’s glare was making him tremble all over. The temptation to survey Rossi’s situation was powerful. Rossi set his hands down on Cooke’s knees. Hard. Oh _fuck._

Cooke could already feel himself instinctively melting back a bit. Rossi was towering over him, his fingers flexing against the fabric. It made him feel small. It was fucking exhilarating. 

“What makes me mad,” _Oh fuck, yes._ “Is little brats who think they can turn me on and then hide from me.” 

With that, he shoved Cooke’s knees apart and slotted himself between them like he damn well belonged there (he did belong there, he did, oh Christ he did). All of the air left his lungs and his heart was working double time to keep up. Rossi’s hands dragged their way up Cooke’s inner thighs torturously slowly, a direct contrast to his previous fury, and when they made eye contact again, Rossi’s gaze was softening already. 

“Is this okay?” Rossi whispered, beginning to look a little uncertain. 

“Don’t you dare get sweet on me, Mac.” Cooke snatched up the front of Rossi’s uniform and tugged him down, pinning himself against the shitty mattress with Rossi’s body. “I want you to treat me like the fuckin’ cockslut I’m acting like.” 

Just for good measure, he rubbed himself up against Rossi, seeking both friction and that same fire from before. He dropped his head back against the mattress, baring his throat, and rubbed up again. Rossi didn’t move an inch. 

“Come onnn—!” Cooke whined. “I want it, gimme!” 

After what felt like years of waiting, Rossi pulled himself free from the grip on his uniform far easier than Cooke thought he should’ve been able to. One of his hands left his thigh to grab Cooke’s wrist. 

“You,” The older man muttered threateningly, pulling Cooke’s hand down between their bodies. “Do not decide when you get what you want.” 

Rossi pressed it against his bulge—oh God, oh God, this is everything he’d ever wanted. He leaned down, just far enough away that Cooke couldn’t kiss him so easily. “ _Maybe_ , if you get me off right, I’ll let you hump my leg.” 

Whimpering, he did exactly what he was told, because the weight of Rossi’s grip was perfect. _‘Where have you been all my life?’_

Cooke feverishly palmed Rossi’s erection, determined to prove how fucking good he was. He looked up at the man above him, his jaw going slack with pleasure, and really, _really_ wanted to kiss him. Rossi’s breath started coming out heavy and uneven, fanning heat across his neck as he let go of Cooke’s wrist to lean his forearm beside his head. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Rossi ground down into his hand, so close to giving Cooke the same pleasure and yet still too far away. “Get me outta this.” 

Cooke rushed to open Rossi’s trousers and reached in to free his dick. The feeling of heated skin in his hand was damn near enough to push _Cooke_ over the edge. 

With his other hand, Cooke tried to stealthily rub himself off at the same time—although, to be honest, he was kind of trying to get caught. Just to see what would happen. 

Rossi did not disappoint. 

Nearly the second he noticed, Rossi grabbed his hand and brought it right back up, roughly pinning it to the mattress. Oh _yes_. 

“I will give you one last chance to be good.” He rumbled, squeezing Cooke’s wrist tightly; a warning. “The only thing you’re gonna do with your hands is jack me off. That’s it.” 

Despite everything in himself submitting completely, despite the fact that a few minutes ago he was literally drooling over Rossi, Cooke smiled cockily. “And what if I don’t?” 

“Then I’ll leave you here. Like this.” Rossi replied matter-of-factly. Cooke’s face dropped instantly. No, no, there’s no way, he was bluffing. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The hand in Rossi’s grasp went slack and the hand wrapped around his dick sped up. As horrifying as the prospect of being left high and dry was, he’d be lying if it wasn’t just… a _little_ hot being treated like some kind of sexdoll. 

A near constant stream of pre-cum both aided the slide and made an even worse mess of their uniforms. The intense look in Rossi’s eyes glazed over slightly before they fluttered closed completely, and he rubbed his thumb along Cooke’s boney wrist. He watched Rossi’s expression change with rapt attention, twisting his hand experimentally. A strangled noise of pleasure came from the depths of his throat. 

“Charlie,” Rossi gasped, dropping his head forward against Cooke’s clavicle. It was answered with a pitiful little whine. “Fuck, _Charlie_ , I’m— I’m close,” 

Excitement flooded through every one of his veins—yes, _Oh_ _yes_. “Mac, please, _please_ cum on me.” He begged, panted, uniform be damned. With a full bodied shudder and a stifled groan, Cooke got his wish. 

Rossi stayed hunched over him for a little while longer, catching his breath. 

“So… so that was good, right? I can— I can cum, right?” Cooke knew he was using a cheap tactic (puppy dog eyes) but goddammit he _needed_ this.

“ _God_ , yeah.” Rossi clambered off of him and onto the bunk beside him, still breathless from his orgasm. “Come here.”

Cooke scrambled up to do as he was told, bumping his head on the bunk above them. There was no time to reflect on the pain though, because Rossi’s thigh looked so unbelievably inviting. 

One hand held Cooke’s hip as he straddled Rossi’s leg while the other came up to gently rub the top of his head, dropping out of character for just a second with a sympathetic little ‘aww’.

“Sweet little thing…” Rossi’s hand slid down to the back of his neck and— _oh dear fucking God_ —squeezed it. Cooke released a shuddering moan, his hips bucking up on their own. “Oh, you pretty little thing… so desperate, aren’t you?” 

Cooke nodded, uselessly, and ground down harder on his thigh. The heat pooling in his gut grew hotter; he was amazed that he’d held on so long. Rossi grabbed a handful of Cooke’s scrawny ass with an appreciative groan. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Graciously, Rossi allowed Cooke to hide his face in his neck. Unfortunately, that just meant Rossi’s voice was much closer to his ear. “Hm? How long have you wanted me?” 

Cooke held tightly to his uniform and tried to smother his noises in the scratchy material, the rhythm of his hips growing more erratic by the second. He knew he had to answer the question though, no matter how broken his voice may be. 

A little (extremely) deliriously, he managed to get out “forever” before words completely evaded him. He felt more than heard Rossi laugh at that, because of course, to him, that answer was ridiculous; the product of a mindless man on the brink of orgasm. To Cooke though, as foggy and useless as his brain was at the moment, he reckoned he _had_ been waiting for someone like Rossi for forever. 

“Alright baby, alright,” Rossi’s grip strengthened on his ass and he took control of Cooke’s movement, as if he was getting just as much enjoyment out of this as Cooke was. “I’ll take care of you, pretty boy. One day, I’ll push you down and fuckin’ use you good, and you can get as loud as I know you are. But you don’t even need my cock to get off, do you? Don’t even need my _fingers_ , you’re so desperate for me that even _this_ is enough.”

Rossi yanked Cooke’s head out of its hiding place by his hair and looked him right in the eyes. Cooke was so close, dear fucking God he was so close. “Now cum.” 

He did, blessedly, with a needy, drawn-out moan that he had to muffle by biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Cooke began to whimper when the feeling of being pressed up against his leg got to be too much, although his hips still twitched periodically. Rossi carefully removed him from his thigh, his touch infinitely gentler than just a few seconds ago. He curled up into Rossi’s side and sighed pleasantly. 

“You might need to… wash that.” He heard the smile in Rossi’s voice as a hand came up to pet through his hair. “Y’know, actually, we probably both need to, now that you’re cuddling with me.” 

“Shoulda thought about that before you came all over me.” Cooke muttered sleepily. “Bastard.” 

Rossi stifled a snort. “Yeah, sorry, got too into the moment. But seriously, we should get up.”

Cooke cleared his throat nervously and tried to regain that ballsy attitude he had at the beginning of this whole thing. “K-kiss me and I will.” _Dammit_. 

Just as he began cursing himself out in his head for fucking that up, Cooke’s chin was being tipped back and his lips were captured in the kind of kiss that did not have any place in the middle of war. 

“You’re so sweet.” Rossi murmured quietly, almost absentmindedly, when he pulled away. Then, louder, he said, “Come on then, up we get.”

Cooke had to admit: as much as he loved to see the man angry, he was even better happy. They’d have to do this again sometime. Hopefully…

**Author's Note:**

> How were they not caught? God supports the gays, that’s how


End file.
